


Not so Guilty.

by jiminchus



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Convicted!Derek, F/F, F/M, Lawyer!Stiles, M/M, dead!laura, lawyer AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:43:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiminchus/pseuds/jiminchus
Summary: But something didn't add up. Why did the detectives drop off case files? Stiles had a gut feeling that Lydia had something up her sleeve...."Yeah, and now Derek Hale is requesting a motion to vacate his conviction."Ah, there it was.





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a quarter after three am when Stiles’ head _**finally**_ hit his pillow after pulling an all-nighter over a case, but when he closed his eyes, the next thing he knew, his alarm was going off. It was seven thirty. He had court an hour. With a groan, he slammed his hand down on the button and kicked the covers off. Stiles dragged himself out of bed, dawdling towards to the bathroom to take a long, hot shower.

After he got out, he secured a towel around his waist and emerged from the bathroom. He padded into the office that was combined in his bedroom.

“Franklin,” Stiles sighs, as he presses a button on the office phone. “Have my car ready in ten, please.”  


“Yes, sir,” a voice replies from the intercom.  


Stiles returns to his bedroom, heading into his closet. He quickly, but efficiently, gets dressed in his suit. Just as he has finished tying his tie, he hears a rap on his door before it crept open.

“Sir, the car is ready. Also, Miss Martin has called bearing a message."  


It was Franklin, Stiles' most-trusted butler. His father hired him when Stiles was only ten years old and stuck by his side since. The man was in his late sixties now, but he was still in surprisingly good health and was sharp as a tack. If something happened to Franklin, Stiles would be completely lost.

"Thank you, Frank," Stiles says, grabbing his jacket off the hook. "What did Lydia have to say?"

"Miss Martin requires your presences at the office immediately," Franklin replied, "She said it was quite urgent."

"Whatever it is, it can wait once I'm out of the trial," Stiles rolls his eyes, heading into his office to grab his briefcase. "I can’t just not show up, she knows that. Besides, I pulled an all-nighter so I could find a way to prove Mr. Hoggins’ innocence."

One of his wealthiest clients, Mr. Hoggins, was being sued for a whopping one point five million after he hit another man’s car dead on after he was leaving a bar. Hoggins had been drunk, of course, but the man, who also was intoxicated that night, was claiming that he had been hurt and there were medical bills to be paid.

"Of course, sir. Should I call her back and let her know?"

"Nah, she can wait. Now, let's go. I need to stop and get some coffee. I'm going to need it."

         --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Stiles won the case.

As it turned out, the man had who filed the claim caused Mr. Hoggins to hit him. There were no serious injuries, as he had claimed, only he had received whiplash due to the impact. From the evidence brought in from the accident to the witnesses’ claims, it was clear. Also, Stiles did some digging on the man, Mr. Harrison, the night before. He was very behind on his mortgage and credit card debt.

It wouldn’t take a dumbass to figure it out.

They ended up charging Mr. Harrison for filing a false report, but Mr. Hoggins would have to spend a few months in jail and pay a fine over the public intoxication charge.

Stiles would call it a good day, as justice was served, but there was something eating at his gut. Perhaps it was over Lydia calling him into the office? After everything was over with, Stiles emerged from the courthouse. Franklin had the car in wait for him at the end of the stairs.

“Miss Martin called again,” Franklin said as he opened the door for Stiles. "She said to tell you, and I quote, 'Get your skinny little ass into the office right now.'"  


Ah, the love of his life. Always so kind to him.

Anyway, it must be quite serious, then, if she is already using profundities towards him in the am. It's usually around two or three when that starts.

Stiles slides into the car and buckles up, "I'll call her on the way. Thank you, Frank."

Once Frank closes the door, Stiles pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and turns it on. He finds there has been forty-seven missed calls.

Forty-seven. Jesus.

He quickly dials Lydia's number and on the fourth ring-- -

"STILINSKI, WHY DO YOU EVEN HAVE A PHONE IF YOUR NOT GOING TO ANSWER WHEN I CALL!"

Stiles yanks the phone from his ear, wincing. The woman has a voice on her, that was for sure.

"Lydia, I had a trial this morning," Stiles began, placing the device back to his ear, "I had to turn off my phone off."

"That doesn't mean you could have answered it before you went in, Stiles," she hissed, "This is a critical matter!"

Stiles rolled his eyes, "What's so urgent?"

There was a brief moment of silence before he heard her sigh, sounding tired, "I don't want to discuss this over the phone. You need to get here asap."

"Okay, okay. I'll be there in five."

         --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The car came to a stop in front of Martin & Stilinski LLP. Stiles got out himself, telling Frank to go ahead and head home. He had left his personal car here at the office last night, so there was no need for Frank to be driving him around today. Once he walked through the doors, his subordinates were pulling him to the side and congratulating him on the win.

"It really wasn't a win, but I did save him from paying over a million. He still has to pay out a thousand and serve six months in jail, maybe less depending on his behavior," Stiles told them, shrugging, "Mr. Hoggins didn't fight it, surprisingly."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Danny Mahealani, Lydia's assistant, heading his way, "Stiles! There you are. Lydia has been looking for you."

Stiles waved off his underlings and turned towards the man, grinning, "Oh, believe me, Danny, I already know. I was just heading her way....What do you have there?"

In Danny's arms was a medium box.  From the logo on the front, it looked to be...confidential. That cannot be good.

"Uh, a detective just dropped it off. Has Lydia told you anything yet?" Danny asked, looking a little bit stressed.

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows, "No, she wouldn't tell me anything over the phone. What's going on Danny?"

"I'm not quite sure, yet," Mahealani replied, looking down at the box, "I only know a few details. I think it would be best to hear it from Lydia, not me....Besides, shouldn’t you be in her office by now?"

Stiles freezes for a moment, but then flashes Danny a sheepish smile and gestured towards the elevators, “Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s head upstairs. Like, right now, before she orders a hit out on me.”

And believe him, she would.

        --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Stiles and Danny made their way to Lydia’s office once they got off the elevator. He could hear her jabbering on the phone once he approached. He softly rapped on the door, pulling her gaze away from the file in front of her to glance up at him. She scowled at him and told whoever she was on the phone with that she would call them back before hanging up.

“Good, you’re finally here,” the strawberry blonde clucked, jerking up out of her chair. “If this wasn't so important, I would give you an ass chewing. Danny, did you bring the files?”  


“Yes, ma'am,” Mahealani says, nudging past Stiles.  


“What’s going on, Lydia? Why do we have confidential files?” Stiles asked, advancing further into the room.  


After Danny sat the box down on her desk, Lydia took the top off pulled out a manila file. She flipped through it for a moment before handing it to Stiles. Stiles hesitantly took it from her, glimpsing down at it. He felt his chest constrict once he saw the inscription on the file.

‘HALE HOUSE FIRE’ in big bold lettering.  


Stiles was seventeen when it happened, and he remembers that night very well. Eleven people were murdered that night, only four survived. Laura, Derek, Cora, and Peter Hale. However, Peter slipped into a coma a day later due to his injuries. Authorities found evidence that suspected arson and they kept narrowing it down until they charged an eighteen-year-old Derek Hale with Captial Murder in arson. 

Stiles' father, who was Beacon Hills' most outstanding attorney in the county at the time, was hired by the Hales. It was John Stilinski's biggest case of his career and the first case he had ever lost. The evidence against Derek was just enough for the jury to convict him. They gave him the maximum sentence. The death penalty. 

That was nearly twelve years ago, Stiles' father passed away a year after that. It had been his last case. 

"What is this doing here?" Stiles whispered, not even giving Lydia a glance. 

"Your father was Derek Hale's lawyer, correct?" she asked, folding her over her chest. 

He sighed, closing his eyes, "Yes, he was, but, Lydia, they proved that he set the fire, so why-- -"

"Derek Hale's sister, Laura Hale, was found murdered in the Preserve a week ago. Her body was charred."

That made Stiles' eyes snap opening, frantically looking at Lydia, "What?"

"Someone bured Laura Hale alive," Lydia says, leaning against her desk.

"Jesus...," Stiles breathes, flipping open the file and doing a quick review of it. 

But something didn't add up. Why did the detectives drop off case files? Stiles had a gut feeling that Lydia had something up her sleeve....

"Yeah, and now Derek Hale is requesting a motion to vacate his conviction."

Ah, there it was.


	2. Chapter 2

"What do mean he’s requesting to relinquish his conviction?” Stiles exclaims, slamming the file onto her desk. “There is evidence, _DNA evidence_ , may I mind you, establishing that he was the one that set the fire. He even had a motive! What judge in their right mind would even bat an eye at this _ridiculous_ behest?!”

“Stiles, _please_ ,” the strawberry blonde rolling her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “Derek Hale never plead guilty. He always maintained his innocence. Now that his sister was found murdered, used with the same MO that was used on the Hale family twelve years ago, he's demanding for the case be re-opened and a retrial to be held."

"There is no way that a judge would grant him that, Lydia," Stiles argued, throwing his hands up, "Laura was murdered, yes, but that does not prove anything regarding Derek's innocence here! This wouldn't be the first time we've had a copycat in Beacon Hills! "

“Stilinski,” Lydia warned, coming from around her desk. She walked up to him and, _ow_ , poked him in right the chest with a very sharp stiletto nail. “You listen and you listen well; Derek Hale called earlier asking for you. You're being hired as his lawyer."  


Stiles stood there, gaping at her like a fish, "I-I'm not taking him in!"

"Too bad, you already have. Oh, by the way, your new client is wanting to meet you. You will meet with him at three at BHMSI."

“But I, you can’t-- -”  


Lydia doesn't say anything, just flashes him a dangerous smile

                                            _______________________________________________________________________________________________ 

And that was how Stiles found himself walking through the doors of Beacon Hill's Maximum Security Institution. This was the first time he visited this prison, so he wasn't surprised one bit when the guards with very big, scary guns at the entrance took the extra mile in thoroughly searching and patting him down. Once deemed safe, they lead him to the front desk where an elderly woman sat.

"May I help you?"

Stiles fished a card out of the inside of his jacket, handing it to her, "Stiles Stilinski, Criminal Defence attorney. I'm here to see Derek Hale."

The woman took the card, examining thoroughly. She cocked an eyebrow him as she handed the card back to him, "Aren't you John Stilinski's boy?"

"I, yeah," Stiles says, smiling, "Did you know him?"

"He was in here all the time with one of his clients," the woman shrugs, "He was a very busy lawyer. One of the best, too. Such a shame he died so young."

Stiles bobbed his head, frowning slightly. John Stilinski had been the best lawyer Beacon Hills ever saw. He never lost a case that Stiles knew of up until the Hale trial. His father was confident that he had enough to convince the jurors Derek innocence, but in the end, the prosecution brought up hidden evidence and the jurors found him guilty. After that, his father never picked up another case and unexpectedly died from a fatal heart attack a year later.

Even though he ate greasy fast food that he thought Stiles didn't know about, his father had still been in good health. It was Stiles who discovered John slumped over his desk in his study. The paramedics tried resuscitating him once they arrived, but it was far too late. After the undertakers took his body to the morgue, Stiles regarded a client file laying on his father's desk.

It had been Derek Hale's file.  Stiles didn't know what it meant, and still didn't to this day.

"So, you're here to visit Derek?" the woman inquired, pulling Stiles from his thoughts.

"I, ah, yes. He's requesting my presence. I'm his lawyer."

"Alright. The guards will lead you to his cell, then," she gives him a smile before pushing a button.

Stiles hears a buzz and the heavy metal doors to this right swing right open. 

"Thanks," Stiles says, returning the smile and lets the guards escort him into the prison interior. 

The doors fall shut behind him, making him jump. He has been to many, many prisons before, but this was a supermax prison. Only the most dangerous inmates were housed here. Even though it seemed they have been locked away in their respective cells, Stiles could feel the anxiety crawl up his spine as he advanced further into the felicity.

"So, are those gun for show or are they the real deal?" Stiles blurts out.

The look he received from the guard, donned in some kind of raid gear, was more or less asking him obvious 'are you serious?'. Hey, Stiles couldn't help it. He was nervous, for fuck's sake. What if an inmate for loose a tried to stab him or something?

Stiles just kept his mouth shut as they lead him through a long, narrow hallway that seemed to be leading to a door. 

"They moved Hale here so you and he could talk face-to-face," one of the guard says, "He's in a cell, but as a precaution, we'll stay in the room with you, Mr. Stilinski."

Oh, his heroes, Stiles thought sarcastically. 

Once they approached the door, the other guard uses his keys to unlock the door and steps aside to let Stiles in first. Stiles tentatively steps inside the room and the first thing he notices how cold and poorly lit it was in here. 

"So, you're Stiles," a voice rings through the chamber.

Stiles' head jerked into the direction where the voice came from and his eyes fixated on a shadowy masculine figure. He steps forward, and it must have triggered something because all the lights in the room flickered on.

"You haven't changed one bit," the light reveals Derek Hale, who was perched in a chair surrounded by a cell. "You still look like that lanky kid in high school."

“And you look like hell,” Stiles retorts, taking a step forward and getting a good look at the guy's profile. “How’s prison life been treating you, Derek?”  


Derek looked ruff. The stubble he had going on before they sent his ass here was now a full on beard. He looked as if he lost a lot of weight, which would be concerning if Stiles had actually _**cared**_....

Derek huffs a laugh, “Not too well, as you can see.”

“I just hope you haven’t dropped the soap. It would be _**sooo**_ bad if you became a hypocrite after all those years _**preaching**_ it to Scott and me in the lockerroom with the rest of your so-called-friends.”

Derek made a disgruntled noise, “Stiles-- -”

“No judge is going to grant you a retrial without any evidence connecting Laura’s murder, which I’m so sorry for your loss, by the way, to your family’s murder! So you might as well hang it up, Derek. Hell, I don’t even know why I came here. This was just a waste of my precious time,” Stiles sighs, pressing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Also, try another lawyer. I don’t even know why you called me here. I hated you in high school and I hate you still to this day. You knew this. So, whenever you do find new evidence or whatever, call someone else, okay? I’m leaving. I hope you enjoy your life here. Good luck.”  


Just as Stiles turned on his heel, he heard the chair Derek was sitting in clatter onto the floor.

“Wait! I may not have any evidence, but that’s why I called you here. I need your help. I didn’t murder my family and I’m afraid whoever murder them not only killed Laura but your father as well,” Derek got out frantically, causing Stiles to halt in his tracks.

Stiles whipped around, voice dripping with venom, " ** _What_** did you just say?"

"Your father was privately investigating the fire with Laura, trying to find more evidence. She had said he had found something, but when she went to see him the next day, he was dead," Derek reveals, gripping one of the metal bars tightly. "Stiles, I...I believe your father was murdered."


	3. Chapter 3

**_“Your father was murdered.”_ **  


A variety of emotions soared through Stiles at that moment, but overall he felt completely numb where he stood staring at Derek with disbelief.

Murdered? That was downright absurd, the coroner conducted an autopsy and validated that the heart muscle was necrotic and that had been a prime indication that there was an earlier blockage and that the heart muscle did not receive the necessary blood flow. He died of a heart attack, not of a gunshot wound, poison, or whatever. He wasn't murdered.

It had grown eerily quiet in the room before Derek spoke up, bringing the other boy out of his thoughts, "Stiles?"

"You're...You're a _**liar**_ ," Stiles croaked, shaking his head, "How _**dare**_ you _**imply**_ such a thing! Is this your way of trying to manipulate to me into helping you get you, you son of a-- -"

"Stiles, I'm _**not**_ lying. I would not lie to you about something like this," Derek cuts in quickly, pacing around in the cell like a caged animal at the zoo. "Your father found something. I'm not sure what it was, he wouldn't tell me over the phone, but he was going to the judge with it."

Is that the reason Stiles’ father had Derek’s file out the day he died? Did he really find new evidence? If so, where was it?

“How should I even believe you?” Stiles asks as he takes a few tentative steps towards the cell. "I cleaned out my father's study after he died. I didn't find anything respecting your case."  


"Laura," the convict frowns, a brief look of sadness flashed across his face before it goes all stoic again. "She called me the other week. She found it, whatever John had found, and was going to the police with it, but...."

"But she's dead, too, now," Stiles adds in faintly, giving Derek a sympathetic look.

Derek responds with a bob of his head. 

Stiles oh-so-very-much didn't want to believe him, but he had that sinking feeling in his gut that Derek was telling the truth. 

“Okay, okay. What if I say I help you; where would I even begin? We have no leads,” the boy says, defeated.  


“Go to Laura’s apartment. It's 4025B. There’s a spare key hidden between in the left side of the door frame. Maybe she has something there," Derek declares.

Stiles dips his head, "Okay. I'll call you as soon as I find something."

Just before Stiles turned to leave, Derek stopped him, "Oh, and Stiles? Be discreet. You're the only one left who can help me. I can't afford for you to end up dead, too."

"How very considerate of you," Stiles rolls his eyes. "Don't drop the soap while I'm gone, Hale."

                                       ___________________________________________________________________________________________

There was law enforcement everywhere in Laura's apartment building once he arrived, interviewing a few tenants about Laura. Stiles was vigilant as he ambled through the lobby, keeping his head down and trying to avoid any unwanted attention. He got onto an elevator, pressing the button for the fourth floor. Once the doors slide opened, Stiles peaked his head out, and to his delight, there weren't any suits lurking about.   


Stiles got off the elevator and wandered down the hallway until he came upon room 4025B, Laura's apartment. He felt around the door frame, attempting to find the spare key Derek informed him that Laura kept hidden there. His fingers ended up brushing over something cool and smooth as he inched lower. He took a hold of it,  ** _wow_** _ **that thing was really crammed up in the there**_ , and yanked out a rusty looking key. He went to unlock the door, but Stiles had barely touched the door knob and the door came unhinged.

**_Huh._ **

Stiles carefully pushed the door open just enough where he could slide in, closing the door quietly behind him. Nothing looked out of the ordinary as Stiles tip-toed through her apartment.

Well, not until he came across her office.

It was a mess. Papers cluttered the floors, drawers and cabinets were open, furniture was flipped over, and even the patio doors were standing wide open. For some reason, Stiles had a very funny feeling that this was done recently. He gingerly entered the room, making sure that whoever did this still wasn't in the room with him.

Once he believed it was safe, he began searching the room for something. He wasn't sure what that something was, but if Derek was right, he had to find whoever killed his father. 

For roughly thirty minutes Stiles dug around in the room and he hadn't found anything yet. He eventually got into her desk, feeling around in the drawers until his fingers brushed against something taped on the bottom of the middle drawer. Stiles ripped it off and pulled it out, revealing a piece of paper with a couple of names on it.

"Garrison Myers, Adrian Harris...," Stiles read out, brow furrowing. 

The list goes on. He vaguely recognizes some of the names, but the question was why did Laura have a list of people? Stiles noticed that there something on the back and flipped it over, revealing some kind of drawing. There was a dog in the middle with different of other objects in a weird shaped circle. 

However, the drawing looks oddly familiar, too. He couldn't place where, but he remembered seeing it somewhere before. Either way, this looked to be important. Stiles wouldn't exactly call it evidence yet, but he was taking it with him to show to Derek tomorrow evening. Perhaps he would know what the drawing meant.

                                       ___________________________________________________________________________________________

  


It was the next afternoon, Stiles was back at the prison and was once again being lead through the corridor leading to the special room where they held Derek.   


“Hello, Stiles,” Derek greeted when Stiles entered the room.  


“I found something yesterday at Laura’s apartment,” Stiles quickly got to the point, pulling out the paper and unfolding it.  


He held it up close enough for Derek to look at. The older man scrutinized it for a moment before something flashed across his features that Stiles couldn’t make out and turned away from him.

“Where did you find it?” he asks quietly.  


“I found it underneath her desk,” Stiles replies, tilting his head slightly, “Derek, do you know what this image is?”  


“No,” Derek quickly says, taking a sharp breath, “I never seen that image before in my life.”  


It wouldn’t even take an idiot to realize that he was lying. Stiles felt a sense of anger go through him. 

“You’re obviously lying,” Stiles calls him out on it, “Why are you lying? I thought you wanted to get out of here, capture the real murderer?!”  


Derek kept his back towards him, staying quiet. It pissed Stiles even more off.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such an asshole! I actually find something and now you’re not going to cooperate with me? You know what? Fuck this. I should never have agreed to do this. Find another fucking lawyer, Hale,” Stiles exclaims, wadding up the paper and throwing it at him through the bars. 

He felt somewhat satisfied when it bounces off the back of Derek’s head before he stormed out of the room, ignoring Derek's calls for him to come back. 


End file.
